


Small Mercies

by Melanie_Athene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Post-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to the Shire is but half the battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Mercies

**Author's Note:**

> Written November 2004

Some days are better than others. Some days would almost pass for normal. But to believe this would be to believe a lie. I know it in my heart. He has returned to the Shire, but it is clear he is no longer of it.

He's so thin, so painfully thin... almost fragile. Rare smiles may grace his lips, but the shadows never leave his eyes. Gone the ready laughter, the sprightly step, the avid curiosity of yesteryear. He shuffles like an old man, his head and shoulders bowed, each movement an obvious effort.

Most days he closets himself up in the study. From dawn till dusk he writes and reads and thinks upon the past. When at last he stumbles out, dull-eyed and weary, I offer tea and my silence. Sometimes, he'll let me take his poor hand and massage it. Sometimes, I'll bring his knuckles to my lips and kiss the ink-stained flesh, my tears more bitter than the taste of ink. Sometimes, he'll sigh and gently stroke my cheek. Sometimes, he'll pull sharply away and lock himself back up in that cursed room.

But be thankful for small mercies. At least he gets out of bed these days.

Not like at first.

I thought for sure he'd will himself to death. He laid himself down in that big, soft feather bed, turned his back to the window and faced the wall. And there he lay. No food could tempt him, no word would bring him comfort. Naught I could say or do moved or reached him, though I cajoled, I begged, I wept... and more than once or twice I flung curses at his unrelenting back. Silence was ever my reply.

Finally, in the darkest hour of my despair, I crept into bed behind him, molded myself to his rigid spine and flung my arms around him. And there we lay. Silent. Unmoving. Not even a tear to break the stillness. And in the morning when I awoke, he was gone. I thought my heart would shatter. Frantically, I ran though the smial calling his name. Until I discovered the closed study door. And I knew that what he sought lay in that book-laden room. There he'd find answers to needs I could not fill.

Merry and Pippin were constant visitors in those days. I joked that we should adopt them, so often were they here. They tried so hard to reach him... but I knew that they would fail. And so it was. Their smiles never faltered, but the times between their visits lengthened from days to weeks, from weeks to months... I did not blame them. They had their own lives to lead. And the Shire's need for them was strong. So much has changed in this once fair land-- but I will not dwell upon that now!

I might have known that wee Elanor would prove the blessing to breach his silence. Her golden curls could never hold anything but sunshine. Her happy babbling would set the merriest brook to shame. No darkness touches her sweet innocence.

Lost in thought, he must have left the study door ajar.

And so she simply wandered in. And when she stood before him, thumb tucked in pouting lips, trusting eyes unblinking, little hand outstretched in silent command... of course his arms opened in reply. It was the first time I'd seen him weep. It was the first time I'd felt hope stir in my breast in oh-so-long...

I quietly shut the door and tip-toed away.

And that night, for the first time in almost a year, he came to my bed. He pressed a gentle finger to my lips when I would have spoken, and kissed each eyelid with lips that quivered on the verge of tears. My mouth trailed to his breast and down... down to engulf him. Ah, the fire that ignited. His lips, his hands, were everywhere. Silently, he urged me to turn and kneel and open myself to his urgent prodding. The thrusts were frantic, filled with a desperate longing... or perhaps, merely despair.

I pressed back avidly and let him ride me to the inevitable conclusion. And when he came, head tossed back to the ceiling, hands bruising in their grip upon my thighs, he screamed his pain and lust and rage in a long, undulating cry: “Fro–do!”

His face drooped down to rest upon my trembling back. I felt the drip of hot tears sizzling on my skin. “Frodo,” he wept, “Frodo. Frodo.”

I rolled us both over and cradled him in my arms “Shh, Sam-love.” I crooned. “Shh. I understand.”

“He's gone, Rosie.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

But I'm still here and so are you. And so is Elanor. And so, perhaps, is the new life that we made this night, Lady be willing.

I will count the small mercies. However few or small they may be.

And in time, so may you, my love.


End file.
